The Firebird (46 page)

Gordon sat at her other side, with General Lacy as usual heading the table, his wife at the foot, and Sir Harry and Captain Hay sitting to either side of the Franciscan, who seemed keen to hear all the news out of Rome.

Anna, living with Vice Admiral Gordon so long, had grown very accustomed to having the business of King James’s exiled court talked about openly, but this was the first time she’d seen it happen here, at General Lacy’s own table. She’d known his sympathies, certainly, and that he’d fought for King James in his youth and still passed his glass over the water, but it gave her pleasure to hear him now talking of current affairs with the ardour of one who was still a true Jacobite.

‘And did you see Daniel O’Brien, when you came through Paris?’ he asked Captain Hay.

‘I did, aye. He is well. He said he’d spoken to the Duke of Holstein’s agent there, who did assure him that the Duke, were he to gain the throne of Sweden, wishes nothing more than for King James to be restored.’

Vice Admiral Gordon nodded. ‘Aye, the Duke says much the same to me.’

‘I also met with our friend General Dillon while in Paris,’ Captain Hay went on, ‘and found him very desolate. The King no longer holds him in his confidence.’

‘Why not?’ asked Gordon. ‘Dillon is a good man, and a loyal one.’

‘The King is well aware of that, but General Dillon,’ said the captain, ‘keeps unfortunate companions. Like the Earl of Mar.’

The name meant something to the men around the table, for apart from Father Dominic they all seemed understanding of the reasons why the King would have withdrawn his trust from General Dillon.

‘Anyway,’ the captain said, ‘I did not stop too long in Paris, for even though I travelled with an alias there are too many eyes there for my presence to go unremarked, and knowing I had just come from the King, the rats came out to sniff about. I did not wish to find myself in irons, or worse. O’Brien told me of a former courier, some years ago, who’d come across with money for the King, and who resisted all attempts to turn his loyalties so strongly that the agents of the English had him poisoned. Far from killing him, it turned him mad, so that his friends were forced to bind him, and O’Brien said the man has never yet recovered.’

‘Who was this?’ Sir Harry Stirling asked, with interest.

‘Maurice Moray.’

Anna let go of her cup of wine and would have spilt it had not Edmund’s reflexes been quicker. As he righted it, she bent her head to hide her face. ‘I’m sorry.’

Captain Hay was speaking, still. ‘You will have heard about his family, I am sure. Of Abercairney. This Maurice was the youngest of them, I believe.’

‘Indeed, I know them well,’ Sir Harry Stirling said. ‘His elder brother Robert married my own father’s widow, for she was still young at my father’s death. Robert,’ he said, ‘only narrowly missed being hanged after Sherrifmuir, but though he won his release his wife died not long after, and left their five children all motherless.’

‘Oh,’ Mrs Lacy said, ‘how very sad.’

‘That whole family has come quite undone, in standing for the King,’ Sir Harry said. ‘But then, ’tis true of many families that have done the same, both Scots and Irish.’

Edmund put in dryly, ‘We should all do as the English, merely drinking healths to James instead of raising swords for him, for then we might avoid the broken heads and lost estates, as they do.’

Anna had blinked back the sting of tears enough to lift her head again, and yet the pain of hearing of her uncles’ fates, and knowing full well that her Uncle Maurice would not have been made to suffer anything had she been more discreet and not revealed him to his enemies, she could not keep the bitterness from sharpening her voice. ‘But it is by our actions, surely, and not by our words, that we reveal our worth.’

‘I know that, Mistress Jamieson. ’Tis why I made the joke.’

‘Forgive me, sir, it did not sound a joke to me.’

Across the table, Captain Hay watched their exchange with curiosity, as though, surprised by Anna’s tone, he sought a closer study of its cause. ‘Mr O’Connor, you did lately come from Spain, I understand?’

‘I did, sir. I left Spain nearly a year ago, and came here the beginning of November last.’

‘I only ask,’ said Captain Hay, ‘because in Paris I did hear some talk of an O’Connor who had left Madrid last year under suspicion he was Stanhope’s spy.’

‘That would have been myself, sir.’ Edmund took the accusation full on, straightening his shoulders as he settled back, so that the roughness of his coat brushed Anna’s arm. ‘In faith, I have lost count of all the things I was accused of when I left, but I remember that was one of them.’

‘And were they right, then, to suspect that you were spying for the English?’ Captain Hay asked, pressing, as he liked to do, until he had the truth.

Anna could feel the irritation of the man beside her, even though his voice stayed pleasant. ‘Surely there’s no answer to be made to that, for if I were a spy I’d scarcely own it, and if I were not, my answer would yet be the same as if I were.’

The general laughed. ‘He is no spy, and I myself will own to it, if he will not. Like General Dillon, he has merely had, upon occasion, some unfortunate companions. Is that not so, Edmund?’

Edmund dragged his gaze from Captain Hay’s and sitting forward once again remarked, ‘So it would seem.’

Sir Harry Stirling, in his own good-natured way, disarmed the situation with, ‘I see your bruises have now disappeared, Mr O’Connor.’

‘Very nearly, aye, Sir Harry.’

‘I am glad to see it.’ With a grin, Sir Harry added, ‘I have heard the harlot’s husband is yet in his bed.’ He sent a charming look to Mrs Lacy. ‘Madam, my apologies for sullying the conversation, but you have a table full of men and I’m afraid we cannot always mind our manners as we should.’

The general smiled as well. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘we ought to let our Edmund deal with Captain Deane, when he arrives.’

That made the other men, save Father Dominic and Edmund, burst out laughing, and Vice Admiral Gordon said, ‘In truth, I’d pay to see him do it.’

Edmund, looking round at Gordon, asked, ‘And who is Captain Deane?’

Anna knew most of the tales about Captain John Deane. She had never much liked him the few times she’d met him, but that had been mainly because he’d so clearly disliked the vice admiral, and being a child that alone had been reason for Anna to think poorly of any man.

It had only been afterwards, when he had first been
court-martialled
, then sent out of Russia, that she had begun to hear the stories that had reinforced her own ill-favoured view of Captain Deane.

Edmund had, before today, heard none of them, and even when the final course was cleared and they had moved into the drawing room, they’d only reached the court martial itself.

‘So he was never tried for Captain Urquhart’s death?’ asked Edmund, frowning.

Gordon answered, ‘No. We could not make him pay for that.’ His voice still held the buried anger Anna knew would always be there when he thought of Adam Urquhart crushed to death beneath the great mast of a ship that foundered on a sandbank close to Cronstadt. Urquhart and a second captain, new to Russia’s service and still unfamiliar with the waters, had been led by Deane, who knew that coastline well and had been charged to bring them and their ships to Cronstadt in all safety. Deane had given charts to both the other captains, and instructed them on how to steer their course, then he had steered his own ship on a safer one and let the others founder. Both the other ships were lost, young Adam Urquhart lost his life, and all who heard about the incident did count it no coincidence that Urquhart and the other captain shared one common thing that Captain Deane could not abide: they were both Jacobites.

Vice Admiral Gordon said, to Edmund, ‘Urquhart’s death was never any accident, but with the charts conveniently lost we had no evidence to prove it. We could prove, however, that Deane had colluded with the Swedes some two years earlier, to sell them back their own ships that he’d captured, at a profit to himself. That was no secret amongst any who had served with him, but none would dare to speak, until …’ He paused, and shook his head, and finished, ‘What he did to Urquhart went beyond the pale, for even Deane’s own friends.’

‘And so the Tsar dismissed him?’

Gordon nodded. ‘Banished him at first, into Kazan, then called him back here and dismissed him all in anger, with an order he was never to return.’

‘Aye, well, he’s taken that to heart,’ remarked Sir Harry, who was setting up the chess pieces.

‘The Tsar is dead,’ said Gordon with a shrug. ‘No doubt the English do believe that Empress Catherine is a fool, or more forgiving, else they never would attempt it.’

‘They attempted it two years ago,’ Sir Harry said, ‘but it was stopped in time by our associates in London.’

‘Had he come two years ago,’ said Captain Hay, ‘the Tsar himself, on learning Deane had disobeyed his last instruction, would have met him when he landed and ensured he neither walked nor chewed his food again, and we’d have had no problem.’

Mrs Lacy, who’d been dozing in her chair beside the window, roused herself enough to ask, ‘And why is it a problem now?’

Her husband answered her, ‘Because, my darling, Captain Deane is in the pay of England’s chief of spies, Lord Townshend, who would send him like a rat among us now, to learn our business. And because Deane is a naval man, he’ll see what other men would not.’

Sir Harry said, ‘Not if we find a way to stop him.’ He had finished setting all the pieces in their places on the chessboard. Now he looked at Captain Hay. ‘Come, William, have a game.’

‘Thank you, no. I have a vivid memory of my last defeat.’

The general, with a smile of mischief, said, ‘Play Mistress Jamieson.’

Anna had not sat beside the window, as she often did. Instead she’d picked a chair well in the corner, cast in shadows, from where she had sat till now and watched, outside the conversation, keeping to herself. On any other day she might have asked what they were worried Deane might see, here in St Petersburg, but she was thinking still about her Uncle Maurice, and felt far too miserable to play an active part in the discussion. ‘No, I thank you,’ she replied, before Sir Harry even framed the question. ‘Do forgive me, but I do not wish to play.’

Sir Harry said, ‘A lucky thing for me, I think, for I have heard Miss Gordon say that you defeated the vice admiral on occasion, and I know he is a formidable player.’

Gordon took Sir Harry’s measure with a father’s eyes. ‘My daughter seems to tell you much.’

‘She does, aye,’ said Sir Harry. With a smile, he looked the older man directly in the eyes. ‘Can you be tempted to a game?’

‘Indeed I can.’

As Gordon moved to sit across the chessboard from Sir Harry, Captain Hay asked General Lacy, ‘General, you’re the best tactician. How would you suggest we deal with Captain Deane?’

‘Do we know yet when he will arrive?’

The captain said, ‘It could be any day now.’

‘Then we do not have the luxury of time.’ The general’s gaze fixed thoughtfully upon the chessboard for a moment, then slid still more thoughtfully to Edmund.

‘What?’ asked Edmund. ‘Are you wanting me to beat him for you, after all?’

The general’s wife said, intervening, ‘No, Pierce. That will never do.’

The general reassured them all, including in his gesture Father Dominic, who’d moved to protest. ‘That was hardly my intention. And from what I do recall of Captain Deane, he can be vicious on his own part, when provoked.’ He said, to Edmund, ‘There is more that could be said about his character before he came to Russia. He was already notorious as captain of the
Nottingham
that wrecked upon Boon Island fifteen years ago, but that tale has some details I would spare my wife.’

‘Boon Island.’ Edmund frowned. ‘Was that the shipwreck where the captain called himself a hero, and his crewmen said he had betrayed and badly used them? Where the men surviving ate the flesh of their dead cook?’

‘Yes, thank you, Edmund, that would be the very detail that I wished to spare my wife,’ the general answered in a dry tone.

Father Dominic had crossed himself in horror at what Edmund said. ‘For such an act, your Captain Deane will burn in everlasting fire, no matter what you do to him.’

‘Aye,’ Sir Harry told the monk, ‘I’ve no doubt God will deal with him accordingly, but till he is committed to God’s hands, I fear we have him on our own.’

The room fell silent once again, and Anna noticed Edmund had turned slightly and was watching her. She looked away, but still he asked her,

‘Are you feeling quite well, Mistress Jamieson?’

Anna nodded, which appeared to leave him unconvinced.

‘And have you no opinion on how we should deal with Captain Deane? No wisdom from the nuns that you would share with us?’

He’d meant to make her smile. It did the opposite.

Vice Admiral Gordon turned. ‘What nuns would those be?’

‘Why, the nuns she was placed with when she was a child,’ Edmund said, and then stopped when he saw Anna’s eyes.

Gordon looked at her. ‘Where was this, Anna?’

The general, on the far side of the room, looked to the monk and said, ‘’Tis well you do not wager, Father Dominic, for you would have my money. You were right.’

The mild Franciscan said, ‘I saw the signs of it at once, in how she prayed, and in her manners.’

‘Irish nuns, they must have been, for her to have such grace,’ the general teased. ‘Were they then Irish, Mistress Jamieson, these nuns who did instruct you?’

Still Vice Admiral Gordon held her gaze, his hand above the chessboard as he asked again, ‘Where was this, Anna?’

Trapped, she looked at Edmund with reproach and answered all of them, ‘I’m sure it was so long ago, I’ve quite forgotten.’ And then, because her eyes had fast begun to fill with tears, she closed them, bent her head a moment and collected her emotions, and then rose. ‘You will excuse me,’ she said calmly, ‘but I have a dreadful headache.’

She walked carefully and unconcerned until she’d left the room and reached the corridor where none could see her. Then she let the tears come, and she ran.